Taking The City
by johnsarmylady
Summary: Things have quietened down since the death of Moriarty and the break up of the gangs...or have they? This is a 221B sequel to Cold Obsidian Eyes.
1. A Death in the Family

**Hello! Well, fancy seeing you here!  
** **So, I couldn't wait to start another multi-chapter fic, and here it is.  
This is a sequel to Cold Obsidian Eyes, and as such will also be written in 221B format. If you haven't read COE I suggest that you do or this won't make too much sense :P  
I hope to update daily, but knowing real life it may occasionally get in the way.**

In the darkness of the Vauxhall arches a thin, emaciated figure stole quietly away from the huddle of the homeless and made his way across the river to the Embankment and Charing Cross.

Pulling his thin jacket around him and tucking his head down against the late autumn winds the teenager's feet carried him swiftly away from the river, his eyes scanning the passing crowds, his head turning occasionally to check that he wasn't being followed.

Theatre goers and early Christmas shoppers mingled as they crowded the pavement on Oxford Street, and in the hustle of the crowd he almost missed his shadow.

Staying at the edges of the crowd the larger man kept pace with his target, slowly closing the gap between them, not close enough yet to put his orders into action.

Fear trickled down the younger man's spine, a chill that had nothing whatsoever to do with the time of year, and as he realised that the crowd cover was thinning out he took a chance and darted down a dark alleyway away from the Christmas lights and into the shadows, running for his life.

He almost made it.

As his feet pounded the backstreets towards Centrepoint Kallie was waiting, watching horrified as he appeared to trip over nothing, falling, the back of his head red with blood.


	2. Return of the Gangs

Six months.

Not in the greater scheme of things a particularly long time, but to the man sitting looking out over the neatly manicured lawns it felt like a lifetime.

Six months had not eased the pain of betrayal that may never heal, no matter the state of the relationship before the event.

Yet all was not as bad as it could have been. In that six months he had been supported, strengthened, loved by the man who had saved him at the start of his nightmare, and he turned now as that man approached him.

"What?" He could read on John's face that something wasn't right.

"Text from Kallie. One of the homeless was shot dead in front of her last night." Came the quiet reply. "She managed to avoid getting picked up by the police, but she's shaken up."

Sherlock was instantly on his feet.

"Where?"

John turned the screen of his phone so that the other man could read it, waiting while he absorbed the information.

"Did you know him?"

"No, but Kallie was happy that he was trustworthy." Returning the phone to his pocket he rubbed a hand over his face. "She was meeting him to get some information that he'd stumbled across, something that, if she is correct, can only mean that the gangs are back."


	3. Awaken the Troops

Sally looked up as a shadow fell across her desk. Greg tipped his head towards his office in mute request, his face looking strained and pale.

With a nod she stood and followed him.

"Close the door, Sal." He instructed, slumping into his chair. "And take a look at this."

Handing over his mobile, opened at the most recent text message, he waited as the Detective Sergeant read.

"John's sure about this?" she asked at last.

"He's never let us down before, his homeless network is pretty reliable."

For a moment the two officers sat in silence, then Greg came to a decision.

"We can't deal with this here. Get your coat and meet me downstairs." He didn't wait to see Sally do his bidding, but fired off a response to John before picking up his desk phone.

"I need to speak to Chief Superintendent Marks." He told the PA on the other end of the line.

There was a short wait, a few clicks, and then

"What can I do for you Lestrade?"

"I need to follow up intelligence received regarding a possible terror threat. I plan to take Sergeant Donovan with me."

Getting the senior officer's agreement, he closed down his computer and hurried down to where Sally waited in the foyer.

"C'mon, we need to pack our bags."


	4. Vauxhall Arches

Kallie looked around, barely recognising most of the current occupants of the homeless town under Vauxhall arches.

It bothered her that so many more people were unable to live in London- more than when she first took to the streets- soon the homeless would outnumber those owning or renting accommodation. A small grimace passed her lips. That would be a first. But then, she mused, they could all go en masse and squat in the ever increasing numbers of empty properties.

Shaking her head at her fanciful thoughts she moved onwards, slowly, aimlessly, not drawing attention to herself.

"Hey!" a voice called softly from deep shadows on her left. "Need a bed for the night? I'll let you share my cardboard house."

There was a hint of self derision in the tone, one that could have been mistaken for menace, but Kallie wasn't afraid. She'd lived on the streets too long for that.

"And what'll it cost me?"

"Nothin' darling, just a bit of a cuddle and some conversation. A bloke can get lonely talking to himself."

Grinning the homeless girl melted towards the voice, sinking down on the cardboard and ragged blankets offered.

"Bloody hell John! I didn't expect it to be you!" she exclaimed softly "You on your own?"

"No," came the equally soft reply. "Sherlock's watching my back."


	5. New Faces in Vauxhall

Shuffling closer John pulled a rather grubby greatcoat over Kallie and himself then leaned in, his head dipped low and his arm slung around her shoulders. From a distance they looked like lovers.

"The kid that died, there has been nothing in the papers or on the news." He said quietly "Have you managed to find out what it was he wanted to tell you?"

"Nothing John, no-one else knows what it was either, unless..."

"Unless he told someone else, who then told the killer."

"Oh John..."

John frowned for a minute, his gaze unfocussed.

"This is too dangerous to ask the network to follow up." He put a finger to Kallie's lips as she prepared to argue. "Especially not you. You are integral to the team Kallie, far too valuable to the kids on the street... and to me."

The girl grimaced.

"So what do we do now?"

"I think Sherlock and I will be returning to Baker Street sooner than we anticipated, and I'll lose my sight again."

"Is that safe?"

"No, but when has that ever stopped me?"

Kallie sniggered.

John leaned in as if to kiss her. "Slap me as hard as you can, as if I'd just.."

"Stay safe." Her words at odds with her actions, Kallie drew back her hand and slapped him.

"You bastard!"


	6. Old Friends

Advised not to draw attention to themselves Greg and Sally approached the back entrance to 221 Baker Street, having first made sure that they weren't being followed.

Mrs Hudson had left the back gate unlocked, and as they slipped through they bolted it behind them, making sure that no one else could enter without climbing the wall.

"Mr Lestrade, Miss Donovan, how lovely to see you again." Mrs Hudson was waiting in the kitchen for them, and she rose from the table where she had been ordering food online on her new laptop ("John and Sherlock insisted, those boys know how to look after me!") and greeted them both with a motherly peck on the cheek.

"How are you Mrs H?" Greg grinned as he extricated himself from her embrace.

"Oh, mustn't grumble. My hip doesn't like this damp weather, but this is England after all." She waved them through to the living room. "Now, you make yourselves comfy while I put the kettle on, and finish this order."

"Would you rather we went to get the shopping for you?" Sally asked.

"No thank you dear, John said you were to avoid being seen here if possible."

"Why does that not sound good?" Greg sighed, sinking into the sofa.

"Because," Sally responded drily "He's about to fling London back into bloodshed?"


	7. See See TV

**Apologies for the bad pun...**

Once upon a time the surveillance network watching London was the purview of one Mycroft Holmes, one of the Government elite, but when the Government fell there was no-one left to watch the happenings on the streets.

No-one, that is, except the bespectacled gentleman sitting in his comfortably appointed viewing room.

It hadn't taken much effort to piggy-back onto the system in the chaos that reigned throughout the capital, and his little electronic intruder had been missed by the powers that be as they tried to rebuild the country after the death of Moriarty and the destruction of the gangs.

London was slowly returning to normal, and people had stopped being wary of everything and everyone. They believed the worst was over, and that thought drew a harsh chuckle from the man as he sat back and sipped his whisky.

Six screens lines the walls, and each one showed a different area of London – Whitehall, the South Bank, Oxford Street, Smithfield, Swiss Cottage…. and Baker Street.

The views on five of the six changed frequently, but not the view of Baker Street – that camera was trained on 221B, and there it would stay, for the watcher had no doubt that Dr Watson would return as one by one his little helpers disappeared or died.

Yes, Dr Watson would certainly be after his blood!


	8. The Doctor Comes Home

The cab had barely stopped when the back door swung open and a tall figure in a distinctive Belstaff coat stepped out.

Shoving a couple of notes through the front window and into the cabbie's hand, he turned back to help his companion out, solicitously guiding his steps until he was safely on the pavement.

"Alright John?"

"Thanks." John smiled and took a deep breath. "It's good to be back."

Looking up at the front of the house Sherlock hummed in agreement, then moved to open the door, one hand still on John's arm.

No sooner had the front door closed than the door to Mrs Hudson's flat opened.

"Mrs Hudson!" John wheezed as the older woman gave him a bone-cracking hug. "Put me down!"

"Oh it's so good to have you home John, I only wish…"

"Me too Mrs H." Taking her arm John steered her back into her flat, Sherlock trailing behind them.

"You two go along into the living room, the others are here already."

Greg rose to his feet as the two men entered the room.

"Great to see you again." he said

"I'd say the same but…" John grinned, pointing at his eyes.

"I don't know how you can do that again." Sally said.

Shrugging, John replied "As a form of protection it's not so bad."


	9. You Can't Outgenius a Genius

**Apologies for the delay updating - I've been off enjoying - and recovering from - Bournemouth Comic Con**

It seemed to take forever to get free of Mrs Hudson, but in reality it was less than an hour later that John, Sherlock and the two police officers made their way up to 221B.

The flat had not only been kept scrupulously clean, but Mrs Hudson had made sure that nothing had been moved from its original position, allowing John to re-acclimatise to living there without sight.

"Do you really need to do that? Play blind I mean?" Sally asked curiously as John made his way slowly around the living room.

"You never know who may turn up here, and the fewer people that know the truth the better, don't you think?"

"What about DCI Wright? He knows…"

"Yes he does Greg, that's why Sherlock and I met him, to discuss the situation."

Sherlock wandered to the window and gazed out at the street below.

"I hacked his files," he said conversationally "He's trustworthy, and not open to bribery or corruption."

"And when you returned to Scotland Yard last month we made a point of keeping in contact with him."

"As John says…" Sherlock's voice drifted off, and John turned sharply towards him.

"What?"

"The CCTV."

"What about it?" Greg asked.

"It's pointing directly at the front door." The younger man turned to face his audience. "And it wasn't before."


	10. Wildfire

Leaning against the wall outside Euston Station Kallie stared at the screen of her mobile, frowning as she read the message for the third time before pushing away from the building and walking towards the Euston Road, her feet taking her towards Kings Cross station.

She was so deep in thought that she tripped over a homeless beggar, muttering softly as she picked herself up and carried on. Kallie didn't see the scruffy man stand and gather his thin blankets before heading off in the opposite direction; she had other things on her mind as she approached a young girl selling her last few copies of Big Issue.

Kallie stormed up to her and gave her a vicious shove.

"You again." she spat scathingly. "I don't want to have to warn you again, stay away from Baker Street!"

Several other homeless youngsters watched the scene before them. Sammy, Kallie's long-time friend, hurried up to her and grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away but Kallie was having none of it, turning back to the girl and screaming at her.

"Stay the fuck away from Baker Street if you know what's good for you, bitch!"

"Leave it Kallie." Sammy urged, leading her away.

Once in the shelter of the station, Kallie pulled out her phone and sent a text.

' _Message Broadcast'_


	11. Just a Little Old Lady

Mrs Hudson stepped out of the black front door, a shopping bag over her arm as she meandered off towards the local Tesco.

xXx

The camera trained on Baker Street showed nothing of interest, just the old lady heading off to do some shopping. The watcher stroked his beard thoughtfully – maybe this meant that the doctor was coming home…

xXx

When Greg and Sally had left for work that morning both expressed their concern at John's plans, but Sherlock had been very vocal in their condemnation of those worries – John knew exactly what he was doing – and now the first part of his plan was being put in motion. Careful not to be seen at the window Sherlock watched as the old lady made her way down the street.

"The camera has stayed on the door," he turned and grinned at his lover. "Whoever is controlling it doesn't see Mrs H as a threat."

"Of course," John grinned back. "She's just a little old lady!"

xXx

Meanwhile the 'little old lady' had stopped just outside of Tesco's. Digging into her purse she withdrew a five pound note and handed it to the homeless beggar wrapped in thin blankets before carrying on into the shop.

Carefully unwrapping the money the man read the note, tucking it away before moving off, smiling at John's strategy for his battle.


	12. Opening Salvo

Chief Superintendent Marks gave Lestrade a hard look from under bushy brows.

"And you can't tell me who your informant is?"

"No Sir," Greg replied apologetically. "All I can tell you is that he helped us identify the officer behind the leaks in our security."

"Dimmock?"

"Yeah, and word now is that someone has taken up where Mycroft Holmes and Jim Moriarty left off."

With a sigh Marks rubbed a hand over his face.

"I had believed we were just beginning to get back on our feet."

"My informant will let me know as soon as he hears…" Greg's words were cut off as the building shook and the sound of an explosion bounced off the buildings in the street outside.

As one, both men crossed to the windows. Outside there was chaos, dust and pieces of car settling around a blown out shell.

"Oh Christ!" Greg groaned as the Chief Superintendent reached for his phone.

"Patterson! Is everyone alright down there?"

The tinny voice of the front desk officer sounded in the affirmative, but before Marks could ask anything else his PA dashed into the room.

You need to see this" she said turning on the television.

The screen came to life, and there was Moriarty, smiling, bold as brass.

"Miss me?" he said

Greg gasped, shocked. "It can't be!"


	13. Disbelief

John and Sherlock stood in the middle of the living room staring at the television. From behind them came the sound of Mrs Hudson all but running up the stairs.

"John, did you…"

"Yes we did," John took her arm and led her to a chair. "Sit down Mrs H, you shouldn't be rushing about like that."

"But John dear, Moriarty…" she frowned up at him.

"I know, it's a bit of a shock all round, but there's more to this than meets the eye."

"It can't possibly be him." Sherlock added, sitting down opposite the older woman.

John hummed in agreement, mussing his hair as he ran a hand through it.

"So if not Moriarty then who?"

"Well it looked like Moriarty to me John, his picture was all over the papers when he…"

Sherlock looked at Mrs Hudson.

"When he what Mrs Hudson? When he died?"

"Sherlock!"

"No point in pussyfooting around it, John and I saw him die."

Mrs Hudson flapped her hands, Sherlock smirked, and John, deciding enough was enough stepped between them.

"This will get us nowhere." He said evenly, picking up his phone and dialling Greg's number.

It was answered on the first ring.

"John? Have you heard?" Greg sounded harassed

"About Moriarty? Yeah."

"No John, I mean about Scotland Yard, I mean the bomb!"


	14. Networking

**Hello! I am so sorry this took so long to do but Sherlocked, a new job and RL in general took over my life there for a while! But I am back now, and hopefully fit to get this written!**

The bomb at Scotland Yard wasn't the last, and soon London was in chaos as over the next couple of days bombs exploded at the British Museum, Canary Wharf, the London Eye and Camden Market. They followed a pattern – one in the morning, another in the afternoon – cunningly designed to instil fear as the anticipated time for the next explosion grew closer.

And after each explosion, the same message was broadcast on televisions, on public service signs, anywhere where attention could be drawn…. 'Miss me?'

Since the call from Greg and the first bomb John had been busy. The seeds of a plan that he had already planted with his homeless army were quickly expanded, and soon small groups of homeless people were to be found loitering around prominent - what would once have been called 'tourist' - areas, watching.

And John had trained them well. Working in pairs they kept in touch with each other and with John through a system of signs and text messages, while Sherlock worked with the information being fed back, certain there was more to the pattern than just the timing of the attacks.

It took two more bombs for the information to show the truth of this, and to enable Sherlock to ring Greg and say "We know where the next bomb is likely to be!"


	15. The Price of Love

Greg had never quite taken seriously the Yard's edict about not getting involved with colleagues, after all, who would take a world weary divorcee as a love interest?

His own cynical words echoed uselessly around his head as he watched Sally leave to meet one of John's homeless kids, checking out the first of Sherlock's two possible bomb sites. The young girl that he was to work with stood watching him disinterestedly from the other side of the road.

With a helpless shake of his head Lestrade crossed over and approached his grubby guide, walking along beside her as if it were just coincidence that they both chose the same route.

"Nick the Pen drew a picture of the bloke we think's planting the shit." She said quietly under her breath, her eyes not leaving the floor in front of her. "Stop and tie your shoelace."

It took a minute for the words to percolate through Greg's brain, then he slowed, stopping to bend down and tie the 'lace' of his slip on shoe… the ridiculousness of the ruse not lost on him.

The girl carried on walking, dropping a piece of paper at his side. He snatched it up and looked at the sketched face of the enemy.

With luck it would be he, not Sally, who found the bomber.


	16. Frustration

Watching the various screens in front of him Magnusson ground his teeth in frustration. He had expected by now that word would have reached John Watson and that he would have returned to the Baker Street flat, but despite the constant surveillance the only person to be seen going in and out of the building was the landlady.

In desperation he had even despatched one of his minions to travel to the country house that Sherlock had inherited from his brother, but there was no sign of the two men. If they were still in residence they were careful not to show it.

A glance at his watch showed that his bomber was due to make his next drop. Scotland Yard had been chasing their tails over his little terror spree, and their lack of clear access to CCTV had been the icing on his cake, increasing his feeling of power over the capital.

Putting aside his pensive contemplation of the Baker Street situation Magnussen switched the screens to multiple views of the National Portrait Gallery, just off Trafalgar Square. He watched as his man moved into position, casually slipping the small backpack from his shoulder and letting it carefully slide down his arm, catching in his hand and gently placing it in the shadows at the entrance to the building.


	17. The Clock Ticks

Sally was torn. She saw the bomber move towards Leicester Square and knew she was tasked to capture him, but there were innocent people at risk. Looking at her homeless guide Sally came to a swift decision.

"You follow him. Contact John, tell him where he is."

"What'll you do, miss?"

"I'm going to raise the alarm." Giving the boy a shove towards the fleeing bomber Sally ran through the traffic and dashed into the building, yelling a warning to the security guards loitering in the main reception.

xXx

The girl assigned to help Greg was not the talkative type, and for that he was grateful. This was really the work of the Counter Terrorism squad, but they knew it would take too long to get the information they needed to nip this obscenity in the bud.

A soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

"If he's going to do the biz he needs to hurry himself up."

Greg glanced at his watch, five minutes to go. He shivered, glancing down at his companion.

"There's still time."

"Who are you trying to convince?" came the insightful reply.

xXx

People scattered in all directions. The guards drove everyone towards the back of the Gallery while Sally ran back outside, waving her warrant card and clearing the crowds.

There was a loud crack, and Sally was buried.


	18. Impotent Rage

Mrs Hudson fretted as John and Sherlock prepared to leave by the back gate.

"What if it's a trap?" She wrung her hands.

"Trap or not, we can't leave Greg to keep vigil alone. " John rested his hands on the old lady's shoulders. "Don't worry, Sherlock and I can take care of ourselves."

"Whoever controlled the bomber doesn't know we're in town yet," Sherlock added "And we can easily get to St Thomas' by cab from Balcombe Street, it's just a short walk."

xXx

Hospital staff wheeled Sally into a cubicle in the Intensive Care Unit, linking her to a series of monitors and checking the flow of blood and medication into the cannula in her hand. The ward sister motioned Lestrade to take a seat beside the bed.

"Miss Donovan's as comfortable as we can make her Detective Inspector," she said softly. "And hopefully after a good night's rest the doctors will bring her out of her induced coma."

"Why?"

"Sorry?"

"Why the induced coma?"

The nurse sighed and pulled up another chair.

"She took a severe blow to the head, this is standard procedure until the swelling starts to go down."

Greg nodded, but any further questions were interrupted by a hushed voice from behind him.

"How is she?"

"No better for working with you John, you bloody bastard!"


	19. Friendship

Greg stood slowly, his vision narrowed to the man standing behind him. He neither heard the nurse's gasp of shock nor felt her hand on her arm as he tensed, ready to attack the smaller man.

John must have felt the tension in the room as he too reached out, this time to Sherlock, to hold him back.

"Greg, I understand…"

"No you don't!" The officer growled through gritted teeth, his voice soft and menacing.

"Now look…"

"Sherlock not now." His voice quiet and calm, John continued to look Greg in the eye. "Whether you believe it or not I do understand how you feel – I've watched enough friends and colleagues lose their lives doing their duty." He drew a deep breath, adding "Sally was doing her duty as she saw fit, it was never my intension that she should put herself in the firing line but you know Sally – better than I do – she wouldn't see innocent people hurt no matter the cost to herself."

Lestrade deflated like a pricked balloon, the truth of John's words seeping through the mist of his anger. Hanging his head he sighed.

"I'm sorry John."

"No need mate – I understand, I really do."

"And you came out of hiding to be here…"

John grasped his arm.

"Because this is one friendship I would not see broken."


	20. Reassurance

**I'm sorry! My best intentions fell at the first hurdle! And I don't know where January went...but at least now I've found out where this story wants to go...so here goes...**

With a brief warning that only one of them could remain with the injured woman the ward sister left the three men alone in the cubicle with Sally.

Greg picked up the clipboard at the end of the bed and held it out to John.

"Can you decipher this scrawl?" he asked quietly. John gave a small smile and looked at the notes.

"Yeah. Basically they're keeping her in ICU as a precaution because of the head injury. According to his notes the Consultant that saw her is confident of a complete, if slow, recovery."

Greg stared at him but could see nothing but honesty on the other man's face.

Sherlock meanwhile was carefully examining the drips attached to Sally's arm.

"What's this?" He poked at an IV dispensing clear fluid.

"Leave it alone, git." John said while Greg just gawped at the way the dark haired man was fiddling with the tube. "It's most likely Propofol, keeping her sedated."

Taking his eyes off the notes John placed a reassuring hand on Greg's arm.

"She's in good hands."

Greg nodded. "I know."

"We ought to go. Even if we wanted to stay, I think we'll be more useful out there."

"Where are you headed?"

John held up his mobile, flipping open the latest text message.

"To find a bomber in Battersea."


	21. The Mason's Arms

The Mason's Arms in Battersea Park Road was one of those unspoilt pubs – not quite spit-and-sawdust, but not yet turned into a gastro pub as so many in this up and coming location had. This was fortunate, as this meant that while it wasn't busy the landlord had no objection to a clean-ish rough sleeper with a bit of money in his pocket coming in and buying himself a lemonade and then taking it to sit in a window seat. After all, money was money, and the boy wasn't upsetting the few regulars that were in.

It seemed to be a day for strangers, for a little while later two men walked in and ordered half of Guinness and a lemonade, then took their drinks and went and sat at a table near the homeless lad. The landlord shook his head. His was not to reason why – money was money, whoever paid for the drinks.

The landlord was busy in the cellar changing the barrel on his most popular real ale, and so he missed the two men leaving, followed a few minutes later by the lad. Life in the Mason's Arms went on.

"She okay?"

"She will be."

"Was nice to me she was, most coppers ain't."

John nodded, waiting patiently for information.

"Bomber went into the flat over the butcher's."


	22. Contacts

**At last! FFNet has been blocking me from uploading, but now - for some unknown reason - it suddenly likes me again :P Sorry for the wait!**

"Are you sure you weren't followed?"

"Certain Mr Smith, I took a roundabout route like you told me, but it wasn't a problem anyway…"

"What do you mean, wasn't a problem?" the bespectacled man watched the Baker Street CCTV cameras while listening to his minion's rambling tale.

"Well the copper, I spotted her see? And when I left the package and took off I saw her rush into the gallery – she was too busy trying to save people to follow me, and I'm sure she was still there when it went off."

A cruel smile stretched across the older man's face at the news. This would surely bring Holmes and Watson back to London.

xXx

Chief Superintendent Marks sat opposite Lestrade in the hospital cafeteria.

"Are you sure you want to stay? I can have an officer…"

"I'll stay. I asked her to take this particular job, I'll stay until she's awake at least."

The senior officer nodded.

"Then was there another reason you asked me to meet you here?"

Greg looked at the table, then away over his shoulder before turning his gaze back to the man sitting with him. He leaned in a little closer.

"My contacts have traced the perpetrator to a bedsit south of the river."

"And the mastermind?"

"So far there's no trace of his boss."


	23. Seeds

Greg's eyes widened. The coffee cup in his limp grip slipped down to land with a thud onto the cafeteria table.

"Wait… what? What evidence do you…?"

"I didn't say I had evidence Lestrade, I'm just questioning your blind faith in your informants." Sighing, Marks wiped a hand across his brow. "I'm just asking you to consider what happened to Sergeant Donovan, consider what might happen next."

As the silence between them stretched, Marks stood.

"Keep me informed of her progress, and once she's awake and stable I want you to get some sleep– if our bomber sticks to his routine there will be another bomb at some point this afternoon, and at the moment there's nothing you can do about that."

"But…" Greg stopped and blew out a harsh breath. The seed of doubt Marks had planted niggled at Greg. He glanced at the message still open on his phone. "What will you do with the latest information?"

"Well, if you can get an address," Marks said, turning away, "then we can send counter-terrorism officers in to make an arrest."

Once alone, Greg stared down once more at his phone. John hadn't answered his latest text. As he moved to return to the ICU he caught sight of the breaking news on a waiting room television.

'MASSIVE EXPLOSION IN BATTERSEA'


	24. A Problem Shared

**Apologies for the delay - this has been written for a while but I've had uploading issues yet again!**

He didn't want to believe it. As more news filtered in about the explosion in the Battersea flat Greg couldn't shift the Chief Superintendent's suspicions, couldn't stop them clouding his own thoughts.

A momentary respite is presented early the following morning when the Doctor in charge of Sally's treatment informed him that they were ceasing use of the sedative that had kept the Detective Sergeant unconscious.

"She may come out of it quickly," the doctor explained, "or she may take time to wake up. Talk to her. She'll be disorientated, and the reassurance of a friendly voice will make it easier for her to readjust."

Greg opened his mouth to ask what on earth he should talk about, but the doctor was already moving away. With a sigh he slumped down in his chair, and took hold of Sally's hand.

"The Chief Super thinks that John and Sherlock might be involved somehow in this bloody mess." He said softly, voice loud enough for Sally to hear but low enough not to spill secrets to others. "Thinks it's too much of a coincidence that they knew where the bombs were likely to be, and now…"

He talked for hours about the case, so engrossed that he almost didn't hear Sally's softly whispered words.

"It's not the first time… They've been blamed before."


	25. Meanwhile, At Ground Zero

**Apologies are in order for you lovely guys.**  
 **I returned from holiday ready to start posting this again, then a series of atrocities took place - a bombing at a concert in Manchester, fatal attacks in Borough Market in London, and then a devastating tower block fire.**  
 **With these very real incidents I thought it a bit tasteless, given the subject matter if this story, to post the chapters I had ready. Maybe I'm being too 'sensitive' to it, but for good or ill I held off - I hope you can forgive the delay, and will continue to read this story.**  
 **Thank you**

The explosion blew John, Sherlock and the homeless boy off their feet, showering them in dust, rubble and shards of glass.

John was the first to recover his wits.

"Sherlock, you okay?"

The dusty curly head nodded.

"Nate? Okay?"

"Yeah Doc, just a bit bruised." The lad got up and dusted himself off, offering a hand each to the two men still on the ground.

Crowds were gathering, and the sound of sirens was growing louder.

Pulling his companions into the shadow of the pub wall, John whispered urgently "We need to get out of here. If the bomber's boss is responsible for this he may be looking for us."

Nate nodded. "I'm gone." He said succinctly and disappeared into the crowd.

"Sherlock?"

The younger man huffed. "If I must."

"Yeah, you must." John smiled briefly. "Slip into the pub and out through the door to the other bar. Try not to attract too much attention."

"Where will you go?"

John nodded towards the far end of the street.

"I'll head away from the main road and the crowds, I used to know this area pretty well so I think I'll just lose myself in the back streets for a while."

"You intend to hang about and see what happens." Sherlock said accusingly.

John rolled his eyes.

"Go catch your bus."


End file.
